


Le Beau Garçon

by Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Inspired by Poetry, Love, M/M, Quoting and misquoting Keats, Rimming, Schmoop, Shower Sex, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond comes home from a mission to Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Beau Garçon

**Author's Note:**

> I sometimes have trouble sleeping and listen to poetry recitals on my headphones as a way to relax. After I heard Ben Whishaw reading "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" by John Keats my bunnies whispered how lovely it would be for Q to recite the poem to James.
> 
> If you haven't heard it, go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qL-L8ExX3kQ
> 
> Apologies to Keats for the paraphrasing.
> 
> And for all the porn.

James Bond stood in a corner of Q Branch, his head drooping and every joint screaming with fatigue. He had lost track of the time. He’d staggered in around eight, intending to drop off his surviving kit to one of the department’s minions before keeping the appointment he’d promised himself with several stiff drinks and a hot shower. That was what felt like hours ago. The department had seemed to be in chaos when he’d arrived with said minions running hither and thither, bustling with high tension. In the centre of them all stood the calm eye of their storm, who had captivated the agent the moment he’d walked in and prevented him from simply dropping the equipment onto a side table and leaving. Q. His voice was low and measured as he attempted to talk 006 out of blowing himself (and half of Minsk) up.

“006… 006… If you’d kindly calm down for five minutes I’ll explain the procedure for getting into the vault… No, I realise I’m not the one being shot at… no, I’m quite happy not trying it thank you… If you think that would help, you’re more than welcome to take a swing at me when you get back. Right, now I think… I THINK that this would be a good point for you to shut up and start doing what you’re told, don’t you hmmm?”

Bond smiled to himself and closed his eyes. The last sixty hours on mission had been hell and it was nice to hear Q getting snippy with someone else for a change. He couldn’t hear Alec’s obvious complaining but he knew that his threats to Q were all bluster. Some agents went deathly silent when under critical direction from a handler – 006 was the opposite and tended to come out with language that would make a whore blush. The department eventually quietened down after Q signed off, the mission to eliminate an ex-KGB arms dealer and prevent him from putting a crater in the middle of Belarus deemed a success. 

“Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?” Bond opened his eyes to the sound of Q’s voice, nearer now. He stood in front of him, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Really Quartermaster? Keats at this time of night?” Bond shook off the lassitude which had crept up on him as he’d stood wool-gathering. Q smiled.

“Any time of day or night is suitable for Keats, 007. I would have thought you’d be educated enough to realise that.” Bond pushed himself off the wall and handed Q his Walther and what remained of his earpiece. It was melted at one end and slightly singed. Q inspected the gnarled piece of plastic and raised an eyebrow. 

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you all about it sometime. It’s a surprisingly riveting tale…”

“I’ll bet. Have you been to Medical?”

Bond shook his head.

“Do you need to go to Medical?”

He shook his head again. Q scrutinised him and then sighed.

“Fine. If anything needs patching up I’m sure I’ll cope.” 

Bond watched as he passed over the equipment to one of his staff and asked them to phone for a car. For once he didn’t bother to argue. He was dog-tired and Q knew it. He waited until Q had walked past him before falling into step and following him to the lift. As the doors closed on them, Bond slipped an arm around his waist and nuzzled his hair.

“God, I missed you.”

In the early days of their relationship Q would have tried to wriggle out of his grasp anywhere in MI6, complaining about cameras and people finding out. Then they’d let the whole thing out of the bag six months earlier when Bond had scrubbed a mission and raced back to England when Q had fallen ill with acute appendicitis. M, visiting his stricken Quartermaster in hospital, had found 007 wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. Bit of a giveaway. Now Q reached into his pocket and slipped a ring onto Bond’s finger before kissing him softly.

“Back where it belongs.” They hadn’t had any kind of ceremony but the ring was a promise between them nevertheless. Bond swore to Q that he would leave the ring with him every time he went on mission and Q promised to keep it safe until he returned. He raised Q’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers before kissing the ring on his own.

“I will always come back for this. You know that, don’t you?” Considering the nature of his work it was a somewhat empty promise but one he sincerely intended to keep if at all possible. Q nodded and squeezed his hand briefly before dropping it as the lift doors opened onto the car park.

 

The ride home was quiet. Bond sat slouched in the back seat with Q curled up against him like a large, if slightly angular, cat. His fingers found their way into his lover’s dark, tousled hair and massaged his scalp, the gentle action soothing both their stresses. The car ride took a little over twenty minutes and by the time it pulled to a halt in front of their unassuming town house, Q was mostly asleep.

“Come on my darling…”

Q grumbled as Bond steered him out onto the pavement and waved the driver off. Groping for his keys, he quickly unlocked the door, pausing only briefly to allow the bio-metric protocols to recognise him. Q shuffled into the hallway tiredly and kicked off his shoes, dropping his satchel as he did so. Bond followed, neatly putting the discarded loafers on the shoe tree behind the door and the bag on the hall table.

“Are you having tea or booze?” Q’s question was punctuated by a jaw-crackingly wide yawn.

“Booze. Then shower, then bed.” Bond followed him into the lounge where he was already pouring out two sizable whiskeys. He took one and looked at it appraisingly. “Fuck me, Tom. You could float the Titanic on this.” Q smiled at him sweetly, if a little sarcastically.

“Don’t act like I’m overdoing it. I have come home to find you necking it straight from the bottle on more than one occasion you know.” Bond grinned and took a hearty gulp. Putting his glass down he slid his arms around Q’s waist and kissed the side of his neck, reveling in the shudder he got in response. Pleased, he repeated his action, running his tongue lightly down his neck, his tiredness momentarily forgotten. He bit lightly at his pulse point and then licked over the raised flesh.

“I’m glad to be home.”

Q – Tom – put his glass down on the sideboard and put his arms around him.

“Mmmm, yes, I guessed that in the lift.” His fingers plucked James’ shirt loose from the back of his trousers and stroked the skin that he found underneath. “Would you like to show me just how glad you are Mr Bond?” Pausing to drain his glass, James took Tom’s hand and led him up the stairs. Entering the bathroom he set the shower running before taking off his jacket. His hands went to his tie but Tom’s stilled them. Moving his hands aside, nimble fingers plucked at the knot. He began to speak quietly as he carefully undressed him, continuing the poem he’d begun in Q Branch.

“O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms?  
So haggard and so woe-begone?  
The squirrel’s granary is full,  
And the harvest’s done.”

James closed his eyes as Tom pushed his shirt off his shoulders, smoothing the bare skin beneath as he did so. He licked his lips and was rewarded by the briefest brush of his lover’s on them. As the shirt fell to the floor, he almost stumbled as his shoe laces were untied and his shoes and socks eased from his feet.

“I see a lily on thy brow  
With anguish moist and fever dew,  
And on thy cheeks a fading rose  
Fast withereth too.” 

James swayed as Tom’s hands smoothed up his legs, brushing the line of his cock briefly before unbuckling his belt. It was pulled free of the loops and he heard it fall. Fastenings were unfastened and his trousers and pants were stripped off together. He opened his eyes as Tom stood up and rested his hands on his hips, his delicate thumbs stroking his skin. He kissed him again; chaste and loving. He had spent enough time with James post-mission to know that he didn’t like to be touched intimately until he’d had a chance to wash away the physical and metaphorical dirt of whatever he’d done for Queen and Country.

It was James’ turn and he set about undressing his love. He took up where Tom had left off, wracking his brains to remember the words to the poem the he’d last recited standing in a stuffy English class in Eton;

“I met a lady in the meads,  
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,  
Her hair was long, her foot was light,  
And her eyes were wild. 

I made a garland for her head,  
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;  
She looked at me as she did love,  
And made sweet moan.”

“I do hope this isn’t a mission report 007…”

James removed his glasses and pushed the now naked man towards the shower, playfully swatting his backside.

“You arse.” He admonished, affectionately.

Tom stepped in under the warm spray laughing and stretched. James paused a moment, enjoying the sight of his long, lean body before stepping in behind him. They’d had the bathroom designed before they’d moved in and he crowded up behind him despite the fact that it had plenty of room for both of them (with possibly a third although they hadn’t tried that particular design feature out yet). He watched as Tom reached for the shower gel and squeezed a generous amount into his hands. He smoothed his hands over James’ chest and began to massage him, working up a lather and easing the tension in his muscles. For such a slight man, he had surprisingly strong fingers from the hours working on devices and weapons. James groaned as he dug his thumbs in. Tom’s hands moved lower and he carefully washed his groin and thighs, paying no special attention to his growing erection, understanding that James needed this ritual to rid himself of his “00” persona before he felt comfortable enough to make love to him. Gentle hands guided him around and the process was repeated down the back of him. Finally Tom’s hands left him, only to return covered in shampoo. James groaned as his scalp was massaged thoroughly. Tom finally steered him under the jet of water and made sure that he was rinsed off.

Once clean, and with his skin zinging with life once more, James grabbed the shampoo and worked a handful into Tom’s mop. He loved his hair and although he ribbed him sometimes about being the only hippy working for MI6, he especially loved it when it got a little too long to be strictly respectable. He washed it quickly; his cock felt hard enough now to cut diamonds and he felt the urge grow to be inside his lover. The shower gel followed and Tom sighed as his fingers traced every rib. Turning him, he quickly slicked his erection with the shower gel and slid it between Tom’s thighs. He rubbed the remaining gel over his body, quickly and efficiently washing him. He groaned as he finally lowered his hand to his lover’s groin, unwilling to draw out his arousal any longer. He grasped the rigid flesh that he found there. He bumped his hips a few times, sliding his erection to nudge the underside of his balls, stroking the long slim shaft in time. Tom blindly reached for the shower caddy and knocked away James’ hand. He pressed a small bottle of lube into it.

“Please. Darling. I want you inside me.”

James growled and kissed his shoulder in response. Dropping to his knees, Tom braced his hands on the wall and spread his legs slightly. Leaving the lube on the floor for a moment, James placed a hand on each buttock and gently spread him. He paused for a moment, suddenly giddy that this man loved him enough to allow him to do this to him. He caught sight of the gold ring on his finger and smiled before leaning forward to press his tongue against his lover’s entrance. Tom shuddered and mewled above him as James slowly took him apart, the pink rosebud of flesh slowly giving way. Alternating between flat licks and stabbing darts he worked him open until he was shaking and begging for James to take him. He snagged the lube and slicked himself up thoroughly, thanking the powers that be that he hadn’t had to bed anyone on his last mission. That this time there didn’t have to be a condom between him and what he wanted to feel. He pushed in slowly, loose portal giving way to tight channel, taking care not to cause more hurt than pleasure. Tom writhed and tossed his head back as James was granted access inch by exquisite inch.

Once seated up to his balls he paused a moment, allowing Tom to adjust. Then, gripping his hips, he slowly drew out and pushed back in. There was a sound that Tom made when James did this, a high pitched, breathless whine of unadulterated pleasure. When James was alone, stuck on the other side of the world, or trying to get it up for some rich oligarch’s wife with the morals of a sewer rat he thought of this noise. The noise that the uptight, buttoned down quartermaster only made for him. He loved the whole process of taking Q apart until only his Tom was left and he loved Tom more than life. It had taken two long years for him to admit that but once the realisation had been made, there was no going back.

He wrapped his forearm around Tom’s shoulders and chest and pulled him flush to him, nipping lightly at the point where his graceful neck met his shoulder with his teeth. He widened his stance, grateful for the anti-slip coating on the base of the shower stall and began to pick up his pace. Gentle nudges into Tom became hard thrusts, their flesh slapping. Tom grasped James’ forearm with both hands, arching his back and tilting his hips to meet the onslaught.

“Please … Darling… please I need… oh God… I need...”

James chuckled as Tom’s babbling increased in volume and he angled his hips to catch the sweet spot inside his lover. He ran his free hand down his trembling flank and skirted the base of his cock which stood rock-hard to attention. He scrubbed his fingers through the shock of wiry hair he found there before resting his hand flat on his lower abdomen, feeling the scar from his surgery six months earlier under his fingertips.

“What do you need Love?” He tightened his grip around his shoulders, pinning him to his chest. “Do you need to come? Is that what you need?” Tom nodded, sobbing as he panted. “Can you come just like this? No touching? Just like this, full of my cock like a little slut?” He redoubled his efforts and was rewarded when Tom suddenly slapped his hands onto the tiled wall in front of him and wailed, his body clenching as he found his pleasure. James grasped his hips and rode the wave of spasms around his cock until the added sensation was too much and he came, pulsing and spending into his lover’s body. 

They stood panting for several minutes before James’ softening flesh slipped out of Tom. He kissed his neck repeatedly as he slipped two fingers into his loosened hole and gently stroked into him, washing him clean. Tom sighed happily.

“I love you.”

He craned his head back and James captured his lips with his own.

“I love you too Tom, so very much.”

He turned and they embraced. James’ exhaustion, forgotten for precious moments, was now back with a vengeance. He rested his forehead on Tom’s.

“Come on Mr Bond, let’s get you into bed.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

 

Later, when they had finished with the bathroom and each found their nightclothes, they lay dozing in their bed. Tom was curled along his side, his head resting over James’ heart, his arms wrapped around him. He stirred when he realised that his lover was quietly mumbling to himself.

“And there he lulled me asleep,  
And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!  
The latest dream I ever dreamed  
On the cold hill’s side….”

James smiled and briefly tightened his loose grip.

“Are you comparing me to a fairy’s child my darling?” He asked sleepily. His only answer was a gentle snore. He smoothed back Tom’s wild curls and kissed his forehead, pausing to study the tranquil, sleeping face of the man he loved.

“And this is why I sojourn here…” He whispered as his own sleep claimed him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you for reading.
> 
> I used to hang out over on LJ posting bad Supernatural fic under a different name. This is the first story I've put on the net for over five years. 
> 
> It's un-Beta'd so I can proudly claim all cock-ups as my own.


End file.
